


Apologia

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Apologies, Don't Ask Don't Tell, M/M, Military Homophobia, Mitaka Week 2018, Origami, Outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: For Day 3 of Mitaka Week 2018.Prompt: "I don't know how to say sorry the right way, so... here..."





	Apologia

When Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka is ordered into General Hux’s office during the middle of an exceptionally busy shift on the bridge, he has no idea what he’s in for. Announcing himself over the intercom, he’s buzzed in and told to take a seat across the man’s desk.  
         Without preamble, Hux states, “I received a report about your conduct in the Junior Officers’ Lounge recently.”  
          _Pfassk_. He’d known at the time that their conversation had been too loud. Even though they’d been seated at a private booth situated a decent ways from anyone else, once the discussion had begun, Thanisson had naturally raised his voice. To inform Dopheld in no uncertain terms that he was a self-loathing coward. Not that it was news to him.  
         Mitaka gulps, waiting for Hux to continue.  
         “I’m sure I needn’t explain to you the necessity of upholding the strictest definition of appropriate comportment.”  
         “No, sir,” he agrees.  
         “Public displays of an intimate sort are unacceptable. Especially certain types. I’m sure you’re aware of the opprobrium in which a large swath of society holds… what it considers deviant behaviour.”  
         With a dejected nod, Mitaka answers, “Yes, sir.”  
         “One mustn’t allow one’s private affairs to intrude into the public sphere. Doing such could compromise our mission. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”  
         Oh, he understands perfectly well. Whatever he had with Thanisson wasn’t against regulation, not the written Officer’s Code at least. The First Order doesn’t discharge service members simply for homosexuality, but Mitaka knows there are unspoken rules. He knows to keep things quiet, to not discuss his private life, and to lie to his colleagues when they ask whether he’s seeing or interested in anyone. One doesn’t invite the disgust of others, especially when those people are regularly armed.  
         “I trust we won’t need to have this conversation again, in a more official vein?”  
         “Of course, General.”  
         “Very well, Mitaka. You may see yourself out.”  
         He finishes his shift in a haze of recrimination, telling himself he never should have met with Thanisson where anyone could possibly infer what they’d meant to one another. Whatever that was, exactly. Maker knows it hadn’t meant enough to Dopheld for him to stomach the sort of conversation he’d just had.

 

Two day cycles of cringing self-awareness later, the general calls him back into his office. It’s the end of his shift, and the summons brings on an immediate cold sweat. If he could vanish and never reappear, that would be too perfect. But instead he stops by the public washroom to smooth down his uniform and check his hair before heading out to meet his fate.  
         He can tell something is off with Hux the moment he steps foot inside the man’s office. The general is clearly uncomfortable—his posture and expression would be more suited to a teenager about to ask someone far out of his league for a dance.  
         “Lieutenant. Thank you for coming by again. Please, have a seat.”  
         “Thank you, sir.”  
         Breathing in deeply, the man forges ahead. “About the other day. I ought to have spoken with you regarding the specifics of the situation first. I was given the impression that the incident in question was more… egregious.” Hux shifts uncomfortably in his very comfortable seat. “I should have known you of all people wouldn’t… That is to say, you’ve never given cause for correction before. What I’ve been meaning to say is that my reprimand was itself reprehensible. Being as hypocritical as it was.”  
         Mitaka blinks. Does Hux mean to say that he himself has fraternised? Or—  
         No. There’s no chance of that.  
         Hux clears his throat. “Lieutenant. This—I wanted to give it to you.” He opens a drawer and hands a small object across the desk. “As a token of my respect, and as an apology.”  
         Surely Dopheld thanks him and takes his leave, but he doesn’t remember doing anything of the sort. Instead he finds himself once again in the hallway, now holding in his palm a miniature paper sculpture of a flower. It’s held together with nothing but its own folds, delicately and exquisitely engineered.  
         Returning to his quarters, Mitaka carries the object like something particularly vulnerable. A baby bird, perhaps. He’s worried that someone will stop him, will ask why he’s holding a paper flower. Of course no one does.  
         Once inside his tiny room, he places the flower on his previously bare desktop. While he prepares for bed, he sneaks it repeated sidelong glances and every time he does his breath hitches.

 

From there, work returns to normal. Or as normal as it can be, considering the preparations for building a weapon that will consume stars. Mitaka is contented, overworked though he is. The flower remains on his desk, unwilting and pristine. Rather like General Hux, now that he thinks of it. And he thinks of it a great deal.  
         A message arrives late one evening while Dopheld sits at his desk, sipping a glass of mineral water and reviewing schematics.

 

> _Lt Mitaka:_  
>  _I was just informed of a situation in one of the communications rooms. Might you be available to help me untangle this minor emergency? I need someone diligent to itemise a list of damaged equipment._  
>  _Please respond at your earliest convenience._  
>  _Gen Hux_

Mitaka comms back immediately.

 

> _**DM:** Yes, sir. I can leave my room in a few minutes._  
>  _**AH:** Don’t bother. I’ll come collect you._

Before he can properly prepare himself for the eventuality, Hux is standing in his doorway.  
         “Ren had another fit of pique.”  
         “I figured that might be the case, General.”  
         “Anyhow. Are you all set to—” He stops dead in the middle of his question and shifts to another. “Is that—my gift?”  
         Turning around, Dopheld surveys his room. There’s no denying the place of importance the flower holds, being the only personal affect visible in his tiny living area.  
         “Yes, sir.”  
         Keeping his gaze fixed on the item in question, Hux states, “You kept it.”  
         “Of course I did, sir.”  
         “May I—may I come in?” the general asks, removing his cap and holding it at his side in one gloved hand. Mitaka feels a sudden urge to take the hat from him and to place it beside the flower. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He knows better; he’s learned better, time and again.  
         Stepping back, Dopheld silently welcomes Hux inside. The door closes behind him. Hux raises a hand to his face although he doesn’t seem to be aware of himself.  
         “I made it, you know.”  
         “I supposed so, sir.”  
         “Please,” Hux nearly begs. “Don’t bother with honourifics right now. I’m trying to—” His shoulders heave. “I know we shouldn’t discuss this, but it’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”  
         “I’m so sorry about Thanisson.”  
         “No, not that. But, now that you mention him—”  
         Dopheld dares interrupt him. “We aren’t together. Not anymore, at least. If we ever were. I was ending things that night. I couldn’t bear the risk of word getting around.” Of course, with the way things turned out, word had spread quite quickly indeed. Just in time for him to be both outed and alone.  
         “He doesn’t deserve you,” Hux blurts out, then covers his mouth with his unoccupied hand as if he could cram the words back inside.  
         “I?” Mitaka asks uselessly.  
         Shutting his eyes briefly, Hux opens them again and peers into Dopheld’s. “The flower. On Arkanis, paper folding is an old tradition. Giving a flower is a gesture of requesting courtship.”  
         Dopheld’s mouth hangs open. “You mean to say. That you. Would?”  
         “Like to court you. Yes.”  
         The silence that follows reverberates throughout the spartan room.  
         “I’m sorry,” Hux mumbles, turning back towards the door. “I’ll just—”  
         “No!” Before he’s even aware that his hand is in motion, Dopheld has caught the cuff of the general’s coat. “Please. Don’t.” With that, he steps in close and presses himself against Hux’s chest. “Please…”  
         Arms fold around him, squeeze him in. The general’s cap falls to the floor. And then Dopheld is tilting his head up, Hux is tilting his down, and their lips meet. For a moment, Dopheld is mortified to think that the general can feel his heart thudding in his chest, but a split second later, he senses another heartbeat against his.  
         After several minutes of lips gently exploring lips and hands caressing face, neck, and waist, Mitaka pulls back minutely.  
         “What about the comm room?”  
         Hux lets out a shadow of a laugh. “Ren’s mess can wait.”


End file.
